Midnight Dawn
by snorting chords
Summary: With the new D.A following on where Harvey Dent left off, Gotham seems heading for a better time. But when a young Doctor becomes obsessed with The Joker, everything is thrown into chaos and all it takes is a little push. Better summary inside.
1. Early Mornings

**Summary: **Two years after the Joker terrorized Gotham, the city seems to be finally seeing the dawn that Harvey Dent promised. A new D.A has followed on where he left, cracking down on crime and the underworld is getting more and more quiet. But when a young psychologist forms an unlikely obsession with her charge, everything Batman and the Commissioner have worked so hard to create starts to fall apart. With danger thrown at him from every angle, can Batman save his city or is it too much for the Dark Knight?

**Spoilers: **Batman Begins & The Dark Knight (if you haven't seen them which I believe to be impossible but just in case)

**Pairings:** Joker/Harley (well as much as possible for a psychotic man wearing make up) & Bruce Wayne/Silver St Cloud (maybe, no promises on that one)

**Disclaimer: **No I really don't own any of these characters except the District Attorney (your city is mine Batman) and maybe the dead henchmen. Pencil Trick anyone?

**A/N: **Mostly movie-verse with some comic-verse thrown in. There are a few characters you'll recognise from the comics such as Silver St Cloud in my best attempt to Nolanize her, so she's changed a little. Rated T for now, although it might get a little gruesome so it could go up. Alfred appreciates reviews as much as I do and prizes for anyone that correctly guesses the three villains I'm throwing into this. I'm giving you the Joker & Harley for free obviously but points for the other two, who will become clear later on.

* * *

Alfred glanced up from his paper as he heard the heavy thud somewhere in the apartment, glancing over at the clock hanging over the mantelpiece. Four thirty am. It was relatively early for Master Wayne and rather late for himself. Over the years, Alfred Pennyworth had become accustomed to the various noises of the Wayne households. From manor to penthouse - and most recently the underground room that served as a headquarters of some sort – he knew every inch of brick, mortar and stone. There was no amount of creaks and squeaks that would disturb him at this time in the morning.

Nothing of course, except the sound of silence. Most nights, the butler found it easy, or as easy as he ever would, to fall asleep and deal with Master Wayne in the morning. But sometimes his hidden feelings of doubt would get too much and he'd get up to do whatever little jobs he could find around the property. It was getting harder to find activities to keep himself occupied as their place of residence got smaller, but Alfred was pleased with that nights polishing of the little silver they had left. With a small sigh, he put down the previous days paper and got himself up from the chair, walking in the direction of the familiar noise.

"You know, you can use the door Master Bruce." He informed the dark figure who was picking himself up from the floor. "It might do your reputation a bit of good being associated with Batman."

"Two and a half years and you still haven't forgiven me?" Bruce retorted once he had reappeared from under the black mask. He threw it aside and collapsed onto his bed, wincing a little as he leant on his arm. He shot back up and twisted it round, taking a look at the gash someone had taken out of him. After years of bruises and knife marks, the pain was barely noticeable and eyeing it Bruce saw it wasn't that deep. It would be another scar to add to the collection, but a story about potholing in the mountains would cover it. Nobody really questioned Bruce Wayne. Sometimes he wondered whether it was because of his name, or because they honestly didn't care. But his covers were accepted with minimal fuss, and life was made a little easier. One of them at least.

"My best china went up with that house." He was reminded by his loyal friend. "And I do bloody hate this new art deco stuff. A lot of all tosh _and_ bloody hard to get clean." While he muttered his annoyances over the behind schedule building works of Wayne Manor, Alfred moved over and sat beside Bruce, getting a good look at his arm. "So, what was it tonight sir?" he asked as he once again got up, gathering the first aid kit he'd installed in the bedroom after more than a few incidents that left a nasty blood stain or two.

"Lucky shot." Bruce replied quietly as he fingered the slash in the fabric between the two joints in his suit. He'd need that repaired, which meant a trip to see Lucius but it wasn't anything too major. "I got distracted, he caught me from behind. It's not major. Won't need any stitches." He held out his arm, balling his fingers into a fist to work out the cramps in them.

"Even so sir, better safe than sorry." Alfred eyed Bruce while he attended to the wound, cleaning it with antiseptic cream once he had satisfied himself it was indeed nothing serious. Almost three years and Alfred still worried every night Bruce went out to help out in a way nobody else could. He encouraged him and offered him advice and help where he could, but that didn't quell any worries that one day he wouldn't come home. The three years had passed with any major injuries that kept him off his feet for more than a few days at most, but every single scar and bruise reminded Alfred that night Master Wayne might not be so lucky. It had grown even harder for him the last two years, with the police so relentlessly tracking him for a crime he hadn't committed. But, he was safe for now, and as Alfred put the tube back into the small red box, he could see Bruce's eyes start to droop heavily.

He got to his feet and nodded his head to the boy, for he was always little Master Wayne to Alfred. "Get some rest sir. Bruce Wayne has to be in the office in seven hours." That statement drew a groan from Bruce, and once again he flopped back down on the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. The butler suppressed a smile and nodded his head again, switching the lights out as he left the room with one last "goodnight Master Bruce."

As he heard the door click, Bruce pushed himself back up with a heavy sigh. He was in great shape, but even so the nights got a little hard sometimes and left every muscle in him aching. Tonight had been one of those nights. The mobsters were getting smart again, pulled from their false sense of security and faith that the police would catch the Batman. They travelled in larger numbers, attempting to overpower him during drug runs and pick ups. The police had shown up halfway through, leaving him distracted enough for one of them to get a lucky swipe. There was only so much Commissioner Gordon could do to distract his colleagues while he got away, and he had only left moments before the GCPD swarmed the docks. The dogs lost his scent a few back roads later, and once again he was safe for another night.

He got to his feet and began to peel himself out of the suit, careful not to knock the carefully cleaned wound. It would heal in a few days and there would be nothing left but a small, silver scar, no different from the various ones all over his skin. Throwing it aside, he crawled into bed and collapsed once more, arching up his hips and wiggling under the sheets. Down the hall he could hear Alfred shuffling into his own room. He'd be up again in a matter of hours, and Bruce would once again wonder how an old man could survive on such little sleep. He had a theory that he napped during the day while Bruce was safely in the public eye, but had yet to catch the butler in the act.

He tried to stay awake, to think over the drugs run he had foiled that night. The criminal underworld had been quiet, suspiciously so. When they ventured out, they travelled in numbers they hoped would be too much for him, but even those were becoming less frequent. The papers said it was because they were scared, because Gotham was finally getting out of the darkness. A new District Attorney following on where Harvey Dent had left off, leading the city into the dawn he had promised. But as Bruce finally gave into sleep, he couldn't help but think not all quiet was a blessing.

* * *

"It's in here somewhere." The blonde woman sighed, kneeling onto the cold tiled floor and emptying the contents of her bag. The security guard took the opportunity to get a sneaky glance down her blouse, offering her a friendly smile when she looked up. She was pretty, with the potential to be rather beautiful if only she didn't dress her features down to be bland and normal. But the security guard didn't reckon she cared about anything but work, not if she was here at five am.

"No problem." He nodded, watching her pick up the various contents and shove them back inside. She held up the ID card, offering a flustered smile. "You'll have to leave your bag with the desk though." He reminded her, taking a look at the card and then waving her through the metal detector. "Late night rules. Not that we have many visitors at this time of night. Or morning."

"I know, I know, but I forgot a few notes for my meeting in the morning." The blonde sighed, giving her bag over to the woman behind the desk. She quickly scribbled her signature onto the sign in sheet and continued down the hallway. On a better day, she would have stopped and made small talk with the staff but tonight she was simply exhausted. Waking up at four am to remember she had left the notes that were key to her entire presentation was not a pleasant experience. Finally reaching the tiny room that served as her office, Harleen shoved the key roughly into the lock and stepped inside. "Alright, I had them…. Here." She muttered to herself, pushing back the blonde bangs from her eyes. Eyeing her desk, she couldn't see the notes she had meticulously written anywhere.

After a few minutes of searching, Harleen stood in the middle of her office and closed her eyes, practising the – rather useless she might add – breathing exercises her sister had taught her in an attempt to quell the childish urge to stomp her feet. Tomorrow was looming even closer, and she had yet to have more than three hours sleep. Not to mention she had wanted to go over her presentation. The committee was difficult to convince, especially when it came to him. Various colleagues of hers had requested time to study the man only known as The Joker, and not one request had been granted. Harleen knew that it was for their own good, as like her, they were fascinated with the man who had no name, no prints. Nothing. It was as if he hadn't existed before he came to this town. Curiosity killed the cat, as they said. But Harleen was confident they would see things her way. Despite her rather misleading appearance, Dr Harleen Quinzel had a knack for making things swing in her favour.

If only she could find those notes. Walking over to her desk in a fruitless attempt to convince herself she hadn't look hard enough, she began pulling drawers open and shuffling through the papers stored in them. Nothing, but she hadn't expected there to be. She sat down in her chair, holding her head in her hands and rubbing at her temples. As she ran through her actions when she had left her office the night before and wondered if she had misplaced them at home, she spotted something in the corner of her eye. Piled under a bunch of memos, some notes from other people in the building asking a favour, she spotted her own curly handwriting. Giving the corner of the paper a tug, she pulled it from the pile, knocking some of the memos off the top of the pile.

"There you are." She smiled, her mood already improving as she collected her coat from the back of her chair and stood up, holding the papers to her chest protectively. She ignored the papers on the floor, promising to get to them in the morning after her meetings. Shutting off the lights and locking her door, Harleen walked back down the hallway, rifling through her notes. She stopped as something dropped out from between two of the sheets, landing on the floor at her feet. She knelt down, picking up the yellowed piece of card and turning it over in her hands. On one side there was nothing, yet on the other there was a crude drawing of what was unmistakably a jester, dressed in the usual red and black harlequin patterned outfits so popular amongst them. She stared at it for a moment, slowly straightening back up and continuing back towards the door.

"Here you are Doctor. Doctor?" Harleen snapped her attention away from the card that she figured was some kind of joke, looking at the woman she had almost passed, who was now holding out her bag.

"Right. Thanks." She smiled, shoving the card into her pocket and taking her bag, slipping her notes inside. "Goodnight."


	2. A Brilliant Opportunity

**A/N: **This is a pretty long chapter because it just got away from me, but I promise not to make the next one so long. Not too much action, like the previous chapter, but I needed to introduce you properly to some of the characters. Next chapter: Commissioner Gordon gets in touch with the Batman (remains sexy while doing so) and Harleen has her first session with the madman who calls himself The Joker. Will he be funny? Who knows.

* * *

There were times when Bruce appreciated how punctual Alfred was, as being on time had never been one of his strong points. But there were other times, like right now, that Bruce wished his companion would sleep in for an extra few minutes. But at exactly nine o'clock the next morning Bruce was woken by a sharp knock on his bedroom door. He opened his eyes, just a crack, as Alfred let himself into the room and moved over to the windows, shoving a handful of letters beneath his arm and pulling the curtains across briskly.

"Time to wake up Master Wayne." He said in a tone that was a lot brighter than Bruce could ever manage after only five hours sleep and a very long night. He held out the letters as Bruce reluctantly pushed himself up into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes with his palms. "Will you be wanting anything for breakfast?" Bruce shook his head, and shifted through the envelopes, ignoring the usual society invites that made up the majority of his mail along with the regular bills. Alfred nodded and motioned to the suit he had laid out the night before. "Might I suggest you try to be on time today?"

As Alfred left, Bruce contemplated making his excuses and skipping the meeting, but he knew as soon as he thought it that he couldn't. He had already rescheduled it twice already due to some "unforeseen circumstances" and he knew that Lucius could only make so many excuses for him. Besides, he liked to take an active interest in how his money was being spent, and Lucius had told him there were some interesting propositions he needed to run by him. Bruce couldn't work out if he meant business or otherwise.

He yawned once more and dragged himself up from the bed, leaving the unread letters on his bed as he wandered into the bathroom to change. The wound on his arm wasn't any worse and it had stopped bleeding, so he shrugged on the white shirt, buttoning it up and sliding the tie around his neck. Once he was dressed, he headed back into his bedroom and picked up the letters, shoving them under his own arm as he walked to the kitchen where Alfred was – as he expected, despite his assurance he hasn't hungry – making breakfast.

"Eggs and toast sir." He smiled, setting the plate down in front of Bruce as he sat, dumping half of the letters into the garbage as he did so. "I take it you're not going to be attending any of this weeks parties?"

"No I'm not in the mood for pleasantries this week Alfred." He muttered, picking up the mug of strong coffee gratefully as he looked through the rest of the bills. A frown crossed his face as he came to one letter, and he put down his mug and ripped open the brown envelope. The butler watched him do so, waiting until he had read it before enquiring about the letters contents. "It's a letter from the planning committee about the manor rebuilds. Apparently I haven't got the proper permits for the South Wing foundation changes. I could have sworn I sent them in months ago."

He looked up at the clock hanging on the wall, and then back to Alfred, wondering silently if he had enough time to sort this out before the meeting with Lucius and the partners. He had just over an hour before he had to be at Wayne Enterprises, and this would a perfect opportunity to look in on the new District Attorney.

"Bloody thing has been cursed since the beginning." Alfred muttered, picking up the untouched plate and watched Bruce rush about the kitchen, picking up pieces of paper and shoving them into his briefcase. Bruce had a keen interest in the new District Attorney and for good reason after the last one, but Alfred had warned him against going out of his way to spy on the man. It would draw suspicion that he didn't need, so he had to bide his time until an opportunity presented itself. "I'll call ahead and tell them you're coming. Would you like me to tell Mr Fox you're going to be late while I'm at it?"

"No... No. I'll make it Alfred." Bruce promised him with a bright smile, quickly downing what was left of his lukewarm coffee as he dashed out of the kitchen. Alfred watched him leave and waited for the slam of the door before he picked up the phone, dialling the number for Wayne Enterprises' CEO.

* * *

"You've got a meeting with the Mayor at two thirty, and that hearing at the university in forty five minutes."

"Right. About that, I'm not going to be able to make it." The man said to the petite blonde at his side, hurrying along the hallway and pausing every so often to make sure she was following after him. "Emergency. I have to go and deal with a new arrest the Commissioner brought in this morning. You can handle it right Silvie?" The blonde nodded and scribbled down a few notes on her pad, struggling to keep up with the long strides of Tyler St Cloud, the newest District Attorney of Gotham. "You're the best." He added, walking ahead of her and glancing back over his shoulder as he reached the doors. "Oh and there's a man in my office, can you deal with that, or get him to come back tomorrow... something?"

"Of course." The woman replied in that same compliant tone, watching as her boss left the building in a flurry of excitement only brought from an unexpected arrest. It was times like these that Silver wondered why exactly her father had gone for this position. He hated the monotony of paperwork and sitting around in an office, something there was no shortage of in the District Attorney's office. Most of that fell to his Assistant D.A's of course, such as herself, while he cracked down on crime to make him one of the most loved – and hated – men in Gotham.

But his affable and unstoppable energy, and passion for the job was not what surprised people the most when they finally met the newest D.A, it was his age and background, as well as his many years spent in much higher positions than this. But as he told her when they moved to Gotham to take this job, he didn't want to be stuck behind a stand, enforcing the rules; he wanted to be out there making them. Silver often pointed out that he was nearing fifty, and should be taking it easy but he simply laughed and pointed out time and time again that despite being "almost dead by your standards" he could still outrun her.

She paused outside her father's office, handing a piece of paper to his secretary and giving her a warm smile which wasn't returned. She was used to that by now, of people assuming that she was in this job simply because her daddy was her boss. There was probably some truth in that, but Silver rarely paid attention to the rude whispers that stopped whenever she entered a room, or the poorly hidden sniggers when they saw her and her mother in the paper yet again. _'I love my job' _she thought to herself as she forced herself to be polite to the cold manner she was greeted in.

"If my father isn't back here by two, can you cancel his meeting with the mayor?" she asked the woman, not bothering to stop for an answer as he made her way into the office, hoping that this wouldn't take too long.

"Good morning Mr...?"

Bruce turned around as he heard the voice behind him, tearing his gaze away from the various pictures on the messy desk he was sat in front of. He got to his feet and straightened up, offering a hand to the woman who had entered the room.

"Wayne. Bruce Wayne." He smiled pleasantly, tilting his head with slight confusion. "I'm sorry, I was just expecting the D.A."

"I'm afraid he's a little tied up, you're going to have to do with me." She replied with her own rushed smile, motioning for him to sit down again as she took a seat behind the desk, pushing aside some papers. "Whatever that is."

Bruce stayed still for a moment, wondering why the woman seemed so familiar to him. She was odd looking, though not in an unpleasant way. Attractive yes, although he could tell she had made little effort with her appearance besides the required smart look for the office. Clearly this was a woman who was all business he thought to himself as he took his seat once more. She had an extremely fair complexion, with the palest blue eyes that he had seen. But it was her hair that caught his eye more than anything. Blonde, but so light that it bordered on a silvery looking color, especially in the harsh lighting of the office. He knew a lot of extremely attractive women, but the mix of such odd matching characteristics that just worked made her more curious looking, something that he wouldn't forget meeting.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name." He replied, relaxing back into the chair and fixing his eyes back on hers. She hesitated for a moment, as if thinking it over, before she conceded and offered him a quiet "Silver St Cloud."

"Now Mr Wayne, what was is it I can do for you?" But once again Bruce didn't reply, instead smiled as a look of realization crossed his features.

"You're the D.A's daughter. The one that's in the papers."

Silver sighed and gave him a small nod. The job of an assistant D.A wasn't exactly an important one, and it rarely got her into the papers. But it was her mother that drew attention to her. Contrary to popular belief, it was not Mr St Cloud that was born into money and high society, but Mrs St Cloud, who Silver took after in looks and occasionally spirit. Her mother was one of those beautiful women, whose pale complexion rarely looked as sickly as Silver's, and who simply got better with age. Her family was from old money, and when her father died it had all been passed onto the now Mrs St Cloud, making her one of the wealthiest women in the country if not the world. Of course, she had little need for most of it and allowed her husband to set up various charities and funds in the family name to "do some good in the world because god knows it needs it."

As a young child Silver remembered being shoved in front of the camera, her mother determined to show off her only child in the proud way only a mother could. But when she refused to take after her mother and become part of the media circus, they lost most interest in her, focusing more on the older St Cloud woman and the many events she attended. Silver preferred it that way, and would have been happy to be rid of all the attention. But as she was her mother's daughter, especially in looks, some people were still interested in her life and they couldn't ignore her completely and her picture along with the occasional article about what she was doing, what she was wearing, appeared in the paper sometimes. The result wasn't the kindly socialite image they gave her mother, but an image of a spoilt child who spent her evenings partying away her parents' money. If only they knew how little her parents actually gave her.

"I prefer just Silver, but sure." She retorted, rather more tense than she intended. Bruce Wayne wasn't a foreign name to her of course. You didn't live in Gotham, or anywhere in the world, without knowing about the Wayne family. She vaguely remembered her grandfather talking about them fondly, but that had been a long time ago and Bruce was a lot different than his grandparents. Always in the papers with some singer, actress, model or whatever gorgeous girl he took a fancy to that week. He'd be perfect for her mother, she mused to herself, as she and her father took little interest in useless public events unless forced to.

"Interesting name."

"Well my mother is an interesting woman. I'm really sorry but I have to be somewhere, so what exactly can I do for you?"

"Of course." Bruce nodded, remembering what he had come here for. He was slightly disappointed that he had still to meet the District Attorney, but his daughter was interesting enough for now, and he wondered idly if this couldn't be the perfect way to find out more about the man. He pulled a letter from his pocket it and slid it across the desk to Silver. "I got this letter this morning and I just thought you'd be able to help clear it up."

Silver picked up the letter and scanned it over, shaking her head with a small laugh. She folded it back up and handed it to Bruce. "This isn't usually what we deal with Mr Wayne-"

"Bruce."

"Alright Bruce." Silver continued slowly, getting to her feet and shifting through the mess that her father called his desk for the notes on his meeting that was getting awfully close. She hoped that the traffic wasn't too bad or she was going to be late. "You're going to have to go to the Planning Committee, land laws aren't on our list of priorities." She found the badly written notes that she had been looking for, made a mental note to get her father to start typing everything on his computer and turned back to face Bruce who had already stood with her.

"I know. But I was curious to meet the new D.A." he answered honestly. "And since I'm here and I have a meeting in..." he trailed off, looking at his watch. "Ten minutes, do you think you could look into it? I'm getting tired of filling out paperwork and Alfred's terrible at it. I can't figure out why it's taking so long."

Silver sighed and held out her hand for the letter once more, which Bruce deposited into her palm, and she looked it over. "You forgot to sign the permits." She deduced quickly, passing it back once more and walking over to the door. "Maybe you should read things through a little more. But you and me are both going to be late for our meetings, so if there isn't anything else-" He cut her off once again as he followed her to the door, something that infuriated Silver slightly.

"How about dinner tonight?" Bruce questioned, pulling open the door for her and following her outside. "Say seven?" The question obviously threw her off, as she stopped in her stride and tightened her grip on the papers she was carrying. She looked him over, wondering if it was some sort of joke. Sure, men asked her out, and quite a few of the guys in the office had tried to get a date out of her. Whether that was because they thought she was a nice new challenge or whether they just thought they'd get in good with her father, she didn't care because Silver had no intentions of an office romance. But this was Bruce Wayne, notorious playboy and lothario, and definitely not her type. She wasn't exactly his type either, she noted, taking a quick look at her appearance. This morning had been a bad one, and she hadn't had time to do anything but shove a brush through her hair and pull on some clean clothes.

"No." Came her quick reply, continuing down the corridor and rifling through her pockets for her car keys.

"Ouch." Bruce said, keeping up with her easily. She sighed and stopped again, turning to face him in the hopes that eye contact might make him leave her alone. She wasn't attempting to be rude, but she was running late and the hurt act wasn't cute. "I'm not usually rejected by girls and that bluntly? Well, not since college."

Silver shifted the papers to her other arm, giving a faint roll of her eyes. "I'm sure that one of the many fine girls in the city will be glad to have dinner with you, but I'm really late. Goodbye Bruce." She continued towards her car, leaving Bruce to stare after her with an amused smile.

"Goodbye Silver." He called after her, watching as Silver got into her car and drove off. He shoved his hands into his pockets and considered their meeting. It had been interesting, and he had been right. She was the first girl to reject him in a long time, something that amused Bruce and would no doubt amuse Alfred too. After another minute, he returned to his car, knowing that he was going to be late yet again. If his daughter was anything to go by, Bruce thought idly as he backed out of the car park, he was going to look forward to meeting the District Attorney.

* * *

When Harleen had first requested time with the criminal named only as The Joker, she hadn't thought it would be this difficult. Her claim was legitimate – all her colleagues knew about the paper she was writing on the psyche of the criminal mind, especially murderous ones – and she had simply assumed that everyone else would see the use of examining the man that terrorized Gotham and killed god knows how many people. Out of all the criminals in Arkham, he was truly the biggest mystery and Harleen was no fool. Her intelligence, though respectable, was nothing out of the ordinary and there were far better psychologists at the University – ones that hadn't slept their way to the top of the class. Having someone like The Joker in her thesis would propel her studies high above everyone else's and she wanted to have something she had worked on all by herself.

But as she sat outside the conference room, waiting to be called in, she wondered if she had got herself in way over her head. Taking a deep breath, Harleen began shifting through her notes and going over her presentation in her mind, thinking over all the possible problems they'd find with it. Over the last week she'd spoken to all of the other people denied the chance to study The Joker and found that only three people had access to him: the head of Arkham Asylum, the Commissioner and the new District Attorney. For a moment she had wondered if any of them were as easily persuadable as her college tutors but quickly dismissed it. Two of them were family men and the other had no feelings towards any of their staff. Harleen had to rely on her research and hope that she could make them see that the chance to analyze him would be extremely helpful.

She had her doubts about that.

"Sorry!" a blonde woman called as she rushed past her, almost knocking the papers out of Harleen's hands and distracting her thoughts. She paused outside the door Harleen knew the board were behind, and knocked politely before entering. Interesting. She looked awfully familiar. After another minute, she recognised where she knew the woman from. She was the D.A's daughter and as far as she remembered, she worked for him in some capacity. Harleen wasn't really interested in politics so she didn't remember exactly what she did, but she had seen her face next to the D.A in some of the society papers, along with a woman who looked so much like this one that Harleen assumed it was her mother.

"Miss Quinzel?" One of the University directors had stuck his head out of the door, beckoning for her to come inside. She took a deep breath before she got up and followed him into the room, looking around at the people who she'd have to convince.

As suspected, there was the head of Arkham Asylum, a high up officer from the GCPD and a few benefactors, as well as a handful of University professors. All in all she counted seven people. It wasn't too bad, a little bigger than she had expected but nothing she couldn't handle. As she took her seat at the other end of the long table, she noticed the blonde woman who had rushed past her in the hallway sitting beside the University Dean, almost hidden as she hunched over the table scribbling something onto her pad. If it hadn't been for the bright color of her hair – not dissimilar to Harleen's in fact – she wouldn't have noticed her so soon. Now that was unexpected and could throw the whole thing off.

Surprise must have shown on her face, because the man who called her in glanced at the woman. "Miss St Cloud will be sitting in on behalf of the District Attorney. There was an... incident that required his attention and he sends his apologies." Silver – Harleen remembered her name as she started to speak – shot a glance between her and the professor.

"Yes, he wanted to be here because he's extremely interested in this case but something required his immediate attention." Silver smiled apologetically. She seemed nice enough and Harleen relaxed her nerves just a little.

"That's alright. I hear great things about all you down in the D.A office." She replied, the southern lilt from home affecting her accent a little more than usual. When in the office, Harleen attempted to 'straighten' out her accent to something that wouldn't be out of place in Gotham, but the odd lapse still slipped through.

"So Miss Quinzel." The head of Arkham interrupted – Mr Baudelaire she remembered – and Harleen fixed her attention back on the line of men sat across from her. "We apologize for these formalities but given the nature of this convict, it's a decision we like to make as a collective." Harleen nodded in assent and the representative from the GCPD spoke up.

"On behalf of Commissioner Gordon," he started and Harleen thought he sounded a little too full of self importance. "I've come to assess whether your intentions are entirely... academic. Every week we get some media company trying to get access to this man and as Professor Baudelaire said, he's dangerous. It's for your safety too."

"I understand." Harleen replied, sliding her notes out in front of her. She figured she may as well jump right in. "But I assure you, my intentions are simply academic curiosity. I assume you all know that I'm planning to write a thesis on the psyche of those patients who show more deep set signs of anti social behaviour." She paused for a moment, allowing the people to murmur their approval. "I've already interviewed various inmates of Arkham, and although they've given me great insight I believe that patient X will be a great addition to my studies in understanding the mentality of these criminals. From what I've read, he shows deeper signs of a Schizoid personality disorder than any other person we have committed in god knows how many years. In the year he's been in the Asylum he hasn't given us any information into his background and we can't find anything on him. He shows no empathy for his environment or the people he's killed. But I believe that such extreme symptoms of his mental state will help a great deal in understanding the mind of these types of criminals. Perhaps even help to create a hypothesis that could be applied to a wider, more general range."

Everyone was silent for a moment, and Harleen took the chance to shuffle through her notes again, making sure she hadn't forgotten any important points. She only had one shot at this and she needed at least a sixty percent vote to be granted time with patient X as they had taken to calling him when he wouldn't surrender a name. Neither could they find anything on any database; fingerprints, image scans, even retinal and dental checks had brought up absolutely nothing. It was as if he simply hadn't existed, like he was something brand new, meant for Harleen to study.

"You understand our concerns of course." Baudelaire spoke up. "The last three doctors I've assigned to the patient have refused to go back after one or two sessions. The few times that he speaks in these meetings, he says nothing that makes sense and nine times out of ten he's silent. It could be a huge waste of your time."

"I know Sir." Harleen countered. She already knew this from her investigations into the doctors who had been given time with him. Any patient that was in Arkham had to attend a certain amount of sessions as part of their treatment, and as he had been arrested on an insanity charge – not at all surprising considering everything he had done – he was entitled to one session alone with a doctor per week. But none of the doctors had lasted more than five sessions, too "creeped out" by him. Harleen simply thought they weren't made of strong enough stuff, and every good psychology student knew that it took the right kind of doctor to break a patient. "But I'm willing to take that chance as I truly believe that studying this man will benefit my studies a great deal."

"Personally I don't think anyone could ever benefit from this man." The police representative spoke up, "He's dangerous. And he's not talking to anyone. What makes you think you're going to get anything out of him?"

"With all do respect, sometimes it just takes the right doctor to bond with a patient and create a reasonable amount of trust so they'll feel comfortable surrendering personal information." Harleen said, fixing her attention on the man she knew was going to be the most difficult person to convince. "I'm not assuming that I'm the right doctor but nobody else has had any success and... well you never get results without attempting first."

Everyone fell silent as they exchanged looks and murmurs behind their hands, leaving Harleen to stew in her seat while they mulled over her propositions. She had sent them a letter outlining her requirements the week before, which weren't anything extraordinary. An hour long session twice a week, with a security guard outside the door at all times in case she needed assistance. These were to last for a period of three months, which she thought long enough to gather enough information, although she would like the opportunity to study him further if required. After the end of every session she would document what she had learnt and present a weekly report to her higher authorities. If at any time they thought the work was going nowhere, she had written, they could simply pull the plug.

After the longest five minutes of her life, the people turned back to Harleen and the University Dean spoke up.

"Although there have been some objections," at this he looked towards the police officer, fixing him with a sharp gaze. The man clearly didn't want anyone near The Joker, and Harleen didn't blame him for doing his job, but she felt resentful that he was scuppering her chances to further her career. "Most of us feel that your request is reasonable. We've read your other case studies, and they are impressive. You're willing to be pulled from this study any time we feel it isn't beneficial to you or the patient, yes?" Harleen nodded eagerly. The Dean noted this and stayed silent for a minute more. "Miss St Cloud, what do you think?"

It was only as the woman looked up from her meticulous note taking that Harleen realized she hadn't said a word throughout the whole thing. She put down her pen and cleared her throat, studying Harleen carefully. It made her feel slightly uneasy, but then again Harleen had never been a fan of lawyers. The woman was attractive, if a little odd with her mix of pale skin, bright eyes and silvery hair, and there was nothing to suggest that Harleen should be uneasy. But her eyes fixed her with such a pointed gaze, Harleen couldn't help wonder if the woman was seeing her more personal reasons for this case. Granted, her main motive was her thesis, but there was that tiny part inside of her that was just curious. She'd seen the pictures, wondered where those scars came from, just like everyone else. And although she tried to deny it, there was something alluring about secrets. Harleen could tell this Joker had big secrets, and she wanted to be the one to prise them out of him.

Finally Silver stopped staring at Harleen and turned her attention back to the Dean. "I'm a big believer in furthering your education." She smiled, picking up her pen again. "Her reasoning is valid and I don't think it'll hurt to allow her this opportunity." Harleen breathed a silent sigh of relief, and looked back to the rest of the men, awaiting the result.

"Well, since the majority of us feel that your study is something the field of psychology can benefit from." Professor Baudelaire finally said, getting to his feet and offering Harleen his hand over the table top. She scrambled to her feet and took it with a tentative smile. "We're willing to grant you access until such time we see no point to it."

"Thank you!" Harleen exclaimed gratefully to the men as one by one they got up from their seats, offered her their hand and filed out the room clearly having more important things to do now she was dealt with. At last everyone was gone and Harleen sat back down in her seat, allowing herself a little, quiet cheer.

"I've never seen someone so excited about more studying." Silver teased with a bright smile, causing Harleen's head to snap back up.

"Sorry, I didn't realise you were still in here." Harleen replied as she straightened up again. She wasn't an easily forgettable person, but Silver somehow had a way of making herself... invisible, if Harleen had believed in superpowers. Well maybe she did. After all there was a man running around in the night dressed up as a bat. "I'm just glad it's all over. I hate these meetings. They make me feel so..."

"On trial. Yeah, I know." Silver laughed, packing the rest of her things into her bag and finally standing up. Harleen followed her up, gathering together the notes she had spread across the table and continued after Silver. "My dad used to be a judge, and all his judge friends would treat us kids like criminals. It was like the Spanish Inquisition if they lost their coat." Harleen laughed, sliding her notes into her own bag as she followed Silver out along the hallway and towards the doors. "But congratulations. I don't think I'd be that excited about writing a thesis but I hear interesting things about this Joker. It'll be a challenge."

They came to a stop as they walked out of the door, Harleen and Silver both looking out to remember when they parked their cars. Surprisingly she was easy to talk to, for a lawyer at least, and Harleen smiled as she fished out her keys. "I'm hopin' so." She replied with a content sigh. "I've been writing this damn thing for the past year." Silver laughed along with her.

"The mind confuses me enough already. I think I'd be the one in the asylum if I had to study it too." Silver said, getting her own keys from her pocket and pushing a few loose, silvery strands back behind her ear. "I'm sure you're gonna do a lot better than me though."

"Here's hopin' or I've wasted a _lot_ of time." Harleen laughed, shaking the hand Silver offered to her. She paused for a moment, considering whether or not she liked Silver St Cloud. It was hard not to read the papers without coming across two names, especially recently. There was the Wayne family who pretty much made Gotham City, and every day there was at least some mention of Bruce, the playboy extraordinaire. Harleen didn't think much of him, but then again he did give a lot of money to charities and education funds – one of which was funding her research. She had to give him a little benefit of doubt there. Just a little. But then there were the Hamiltons, currently the St Clouds now their fortune had been passed down to Lana St Cloud nee Hamilton. Silver was too much like her mother for Harleen not to recognise her, and everyone knew who her father was. They were a good enough family and even if the papers didn't show too much of an interest in Silver, Harleen had read enough little articles to form an assumption that she was a typical socialite kid, happy to drift along and have a career as long as Mommy and Daddy still paid her partying expenses.

But meeting her had thrown that assumption away, and she thought that maybe you couldn't judge a rich girl by her column inches. Silver seemed down to earth enough, and definitely not as glamorous as she appeared in the papers. Throwing caution to the wind, Harleen got a pen from her pocket and scribbled her number onto Silver's palm. "We'll do lunch. Or whatever you people do in Gotham."

"I wouldn't know." Silver smiled, looking down at the black ink on her hand and then nodding. "I don't think I've been out anywhere there haven't been cameras. Bu we'll figure something out."

"Be seeing you." Harleen called out as Silver said her goodbyes and made her way to her car with the promise that she would call her. She turned away and walked the stretch to her own car, satisfied with the day so far. Everything had gone according to plan, and she made a friend, something she had forgotten to do since she moved here. She started her car and backed out of the car park, heading towards the city to buy herself something to celebrate things going according to plan.


End file.
